This Didn't Happen
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Oneshot, post series. Nonangst. Don't believe me? I promise. It's true. Read and find out...


**A/N:** This oneshot popped into my head and I couldn't go to sleep until I wrote it down. It's not angsty! No, really, it isn't! Trust me!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS. I'm poor. 'Nuff said.

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**This Didn't Happen**

Tim couldn't figure out how it had all gone so wrong so quickly. One minute, they were all just heading to the house to conduct their investigation and then, in a moment, bullets were flying. It was as if they were in a hail of gunfire. People seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere and begun firing. This wasn't even a violent case, just robbery. The only reason they were investigating at all was because the house that was robbed belonged to a high-ranking officer in the Navy. Where duty calls and all... but now...

Tim felt a stab of anguish as Agent Vaughn went down, his body riddled with bullets. He could hear Agent Watson shrieking into her radio, pleading for backup.

"Boss!" Agent Watson cried. "What do we do?"

"Take down as many as you can, Jillian. Try to hold out until help comes!" Tim shouted back. Where was all the noise coming from? There was a roaring in his ears that he couldn't ascribe to the weapons fire. Agent Watson shouldn't have to deal with this. She was the Probie, only part of NCIS for two months. Heck, _no one_ should have to deal with this.

She fired back over and over again, as did Tim. Then, Tim was alone. A stray bullet caught her in the head and she was dead before she hit the ground. Tim was alone. Somehow, not a single bullet was hitting him. How was that possible. They were flying past him as thickly as they did in cartoons... but all he could see was the blood pooling beneath the bodies of his team... his entire team dead in one fell swoop. _Why?!_ The bullets stopped suddenly and the world blurred to a single focal point: Tim surrounded by the blood of those who had trusted him to keep them safe...

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"NO!" Tim sat up in bed, his heart thumping wildly, looking around for his team. "Alan! Jillian!" he whispered, surprised that he wasn't actually shouting, before realizing that it was just a dream. He sighed and fell back onto his pillow. What a nightmare... he looked over at his clock and groaned. Two in the morning. He wouldn't get back to sleep for hours the way his heart was racing right now. The adrenaline rush was much too intense. He sat back up and ran his hand through his hair. Tim needed to talk to someone right now. Someone who might understand his current anxiety.

What time _was_ it in Mexico?

He reached over for his phone and dialed. "Boss?" he said quietly as the phone connected.

"McGee, do you have any idea what time it is here?" Gibbs asked when he picked it up on the third ring.

"Around eleven, I think."

"Try midnight, McGee... and how many times do I have to tell you that I'm no longer your boss?"

"Sorry, Boss. Hard habit to break. You weren't asleep were you?"

"No, but the question is why aren't you? I _know_ what time it is in DC."

Tim cleared his throat a little nervously. Strange, but even more than ten years later, Gibbs still had the power to intimidate him, not that he'd ever admit that to anyone at NCIS... Abby and Jimmy knew already, but they wouldn't dare unless he acted too much like a jerk.

"What, McGee?" Gibbs sounded resigned and definitely not sleepy.

"Boss, er, Gibbs, did you ever... _worry_ about us, the team?"

"In what respect?"

"Did you ever worry that you would... screw up and get us killed?"

Gibbs was silent for a few seconds. "It will never go away, McGee."

"What won't?"

"The worries, the nightmares. The fear that this time you have done something so incredibly stupid, so criminally incompetent that your team pays the price."

"How do you deal with it?"

Gibbs chuckled. "Learn not to make mistakes, I guess."

"That's never going to happen, Gibbs. There's always a chance that I'll make a mistake; no, there's a certainty that I will."

"Do you like having your own team, McGee? Knowing the anxiety that you're feeling right now, knowing the pressure that is on you to train those people to keep themselves alive and to save others, do you like doing it?"

Tim thought about it, as he turned in bed and dropped his feet over the side. He stood and wandered out of the bedroom. "...yeah. I do, Boss. I like how good it feels when I see Jillian figure out something new or when I see Alan making strides on his own. It feels good. I like leading them and I like working _with_ them."

"Keep that in mind, then. When you wake up in the middle of the night afraid that you've messed up, remember what you've done with them and how much you enjoy it. That keeps the sleepless nights down to a minimum. And if all else fails, do you know what else you can do?"

"What's that?"

"Build a boat... or I guess in your case, write another sequel."

"That's what worked for you?"

"Do you really think that I built a fleet of boats by hand just for fun?"

"Wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was, but the reason I kept at it was because it was a way to relax and lessen the worries. I could lose myself in the work. Don't you do that with your books? How many is that now?"

"I guess I do. I just sent in the final draft of number six."

"Title?"

"I haven't settled on one yet. My publisher keeps rejecting my choices."

"Make sure you tell me. I'd like to see what my namesake is doing."

"You know, Tibbs bears very little similarity to you. He never did."

"What about Mann?"

"I didn't know I was actually right about it at the time, Boss. Besides, Tibbs hasn't retired."

"Right. Maybe you could do that in the next one. He can hand off the reins to someone else."

"Maybe..."

"Feeling better, McGee?"

"Yeah, Boss. Thanks."

"Stop calling me that, McGee!"

"Sorry, Gibbs."

"And stop apologizing. Man, I feel like I'm back at NCIS just talking to you."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Tim asked slyly.

"Depends on the day." Gibbs gave a yawn. "Go back to sleep, McGee. You're not going to kill your team."

"Right."

"And tell Jen that if she gets tired of that office she can come and visit."

Tim smothered a laugh. Jenny had hung onto the director's chair longer than anyone would have guessed. Gibbs had ribbed her about it at his retirement.

"Will do."

"McGee?"

"Yeah?"

"You can call me _Boss_ if you really feel it's necessary."

Tim grinned even though Gibbs couldn't see him. "Thanks... Boss."

Gibbs sighed loudly. "Good night, McGee."

"'Night, Boss." Tim hung up and got back into bed, sinking back against the pillows. He movements finally woke up his wife. She rolled over on her side, looking at him sleepily.

"Tim? What's going on? Who were you talking to?"

"Nothing, Abbs. I just needed to talk to Gibbs."

Abby yawned. "At two in the morning?"

"Some things can't wait."

"Are you going to go back to sleep or do I have to sleep in this nice big bed by myself?" she asked, a wicked gleam in her eye.

"I think I'm ready to sleep again... unless you have other ideas."

"Not at two in the morning."

Tim laughed and rolled over, gathering her into his arms. "Love you."

"Back at ya," Abby said as her eyes closed.

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"Boss! I got your coffee!" Agent Watson said eagerly as she came into the bullpen.

"Thanks, Jillian. How many times do I have to tell you that I can get it myself? A special agent is not a grunt."

"But a Probie _is_," Agent Vaughn stated firmly as he waltzed off the elevator. "Didn't you get _me_ any coffee, Probie?"

Tim walked by him as he sat down at his desk and slapped the back of his head.

"Thanks, Boss," he said grumpily.

"You're welcome, Alan. Do you have your report ready yet?"

"I'm just getting the draft ready now, Boss."

"You have until I get back up from the lab. Jillian!"

"Yes, Boss?"

"You're with me!" Tim turned on his heel and headed to the elevator, knowing that she'd be right on his six.

He really loved his job.


End file.
